


Bunnanunê

by ReluctantlyGreyhound



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Poor Bilbo, azog is a bitch, smaug is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:43:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReluctantlyGreyhound/pseuds/ReluctantlyGreyhound
Summary: Bilbo learns that you can't run from grief.





	Bunnanunê

**Author's Note:**

> Just your standard post-BotFA Bagginshield angst ig. Idk where this came from but have fun crying??

The whine that forces its way out of him is a sound like nothing he’s ever heard himself make before and he never wants to hear its like again. Thorin's dead, dead eyes stare at nothing next to him and he chokes back bile. They’re not supposed to look like that; they’re supposed to burn as they always have. 

The battle still rages in the valley, but the fog covering Ravenhill keeps it in muffled silence. Bilbo’s mind reels and he desperately wants to break that silence more than he’s wanted anything else. How can there be silence and calm when Thorin is- _Thorin- he- he's- it's not like that- but he’s..._? Bilbo’s mind stutters and skips and he staggers away from the body. 

A scream rips out of his throat a second before the vomit does and he sinks to his knees, choking and coughing. Tears mix with the snot and dirt and blood on his face, while bile drips off his chin. He’s glad that he’s a mess. He should be. Thorin is dead, why should Bilbo look good? 

He starts running. He runs away from everything that’s happened. He’s running even when he sits quietly next to Gandalf. He runs to the wizard’s melancholy smile, pulling out one of his own in response because it’s funny that Gandalf can’t make his pipe work, and that’s all that matters because if he lets anything else matter he will break. 

He has to run. If he doesn’t, Thorin will be dead and Fíli and Kíli will be dead and they’ll stay dead and it’s not exactly his fault but it is and they’ll still be dead if he thinks about it and there’s just so much death everywhere. 

There was so much they never got the chance to tell each other

_____________________________________________ 

Walking out of Erebor hurts, but it’s long past time he was gone. He’s spent weeks there, sharing his grief and pain and rage with the other members of the Company, but they need to begin the long process towards moving onwards and upwards and so does he. 

Balin is, as always, understanding. Bilbo recognizes the same urge to get out and start afresh in him, and he helps Bilbo pack his things without once trying to get him to stay longer. 

"There’s to be a great feast tonight,” he says, walking Bilbo through the gate to see him off, “Songs will be sung, tales will be told... and Thorin Oakenshield will pass into legend.” His voice trembles on the last part and he has to look away. 

Bilbo looks down. 

Neither of them speak of Thorin again. 

_____________________________________________ 

Rough lips, rough beard, rough hair, but always gentle hands. Hands sliding smoothly over Bilbo’s chest. Large fingers pushing past his lips but only ever carefully, large fingers gently pushing into him. 

Rough lips, rough beard, rough hair. Gentle arms ever holding him close. 

“ _Bunnanunê_ ,” Thorin whispers in his dream, his smoky voice rising out of the depths of Bilbo’s memory, “ _Bunnanunê_.” Thorin had called him that in moments of quiet, while Bilbo lay soft and sated in those thick, gentle arms. Before the change. 

Before Thorin attained everything his heart desired before it desired Bilbo. Before gold and jewels rushed in to fill a space that Bilbo thought already filled. 

Before they were ripped apart. 

Bilbo flees his dreams and his memories. Running again, always running. He flees back into his books and his armchair and does not think about how Thorin might have lived if Bilbo had held his heart closer. 

But how foolish of him to think his meager existence could combat the poison of a dragon’s treasure. 

_I did not know to expect this,_ Bunnanunê _, how can one prepare for such a simple thing to take over every thought, every breath of one’s existence until all else is but dust? Ballads and tales do no justice to love, just as they would do no justice to you._

When Bilbo later learns from Balin that Bunnanunê means ‘my tiny treasure,’ he can’t eat for three days, nauseous from crying. 

There is only so far one can run.


End file.
